Soul Mates
by SAR132-4
Summary: A stalker takes his obsession too far leading to a deadly situation inside a city bus. "Hot call" fic, rated T.
1. Chapter 1

**Alright, took three episodes, but I think my muse is back for Flashpoint (finally). And yes, Leah does have a life in my fiction . . . hopefully she'll be back, I mean, she kinda just, disappeared, lol. **

**I don't live in Toronto, therefore I do not retain any idea of people, places, bus routes or good places to eat. So yes, artistic license will be implemented for the duration of this fanfiction.**

Years, _years_ he had been shadowing her, obsessively following the woman of his dreams. He knew that they would be soul mates from the very beginning, when their eyes met in the coffee shop down the street. She had smiled at him, it was small, but the twitch at the corners of her mouth and the sparkle in her eye was all the proof he needed to believe she was his.

He left her notes, packages, flowers and even once he left her a box of chocolates at her front doorstep, always being careful not to be seen. At first she seemed flattered, then one day he saw a police car outside her front door and he realized she was blowing the whole thing out of proportion, rage boiled inside him and he left the area to cool off. When he returned only a few hours later, he saw the police car had disappeared and she was standing on her front stoop, hugging another man and staring off worriedly into space. The man wrapped her in a tight hug before they turned and went into the house.

The rejection stung him like a hive of angry bees, he clenched his fists in silent rage, he fumed. They were _meant_ to be together, they were soul mates, together forever in love, how could she turn against their unbreakable bond?

He growled as he sat in the dark room, staring at the wide repertoire of photos he had taken of her, the love of his life. She was smiling, happy, laughing . . . and with the other man.

The glass of water in his hands shattered as his fist clenched.

He looked over the schedule, she would be on the bus in less than an hour, her . . . boyfriend (he shuddered at the word) was going to work. He glanced at the gun in his hands, the sleek cool metal warming up in his hands, he'd end it today, end it once and for all . . .

"Soon," he crooned as he caressed her photo, "Soon you'll find out that we were meant to be together," he said.

He grabbed a necklace off of the altar he had erected for her and placed it in his pocket, he tucked the gun in his waistband, covering it with a stylish jacket, and then he walked out the door with a determined look in his eyes.

* * *

She checked her make up in the mirror once more, her boyfriend, Tim, already had left for work, pecking her on the cheek on the way out the door. She sighed, checking out the window for probably the fifth time in fifteen minutes, checking up and down the streets for anything out of the ordinary. It was sheer habit by now, the stalker had taken her peace of mind the same way he had stolen her necklace a few weeks ago.

It had started in the form of gifts, nice notes and flowers, nothing to be overly creeped out about, at least, that's what she had thought, maybe it was one of her friends playing a prank on her. Then she began getting the letters, benign at first, then they gradually escalated into threats against her and soon her boyfriend. That was the final straw for both of them, Tim called the police and they sent a few officers over.

The police said their hands were tied, they legally couldn't do anything about the stalker until he posed a serious threat to her or her boyfriend's safety. They investigated the robbery as a separate incident and they didn't get far into that, the thief had left no fingerprints or any evidence, he had gotten in by the spare key that was hidden under the doormat.

She sighed, staring at her tired face in the mirror, "Don't let him get to you Diane," she told herself in a small pep talk, "Come on, don't let that lowlife dictate how you live," she said forcefully as she picked up her bag, making sure the can of pepper spray was hidden inside, and walked out the door.

As she walked outside, she could have sworn she saw a small bit of movement behind her, she turned around quickly, hand reaching for the pepper spray.

"Woah," the voice belonged to her neighbor, "Sorry if I startled you," he said as he lifted his hands in a non-threatening gesture. He looked like he had just been jogging, probably was.

"Sorry Mister Park, guess I'm a little jumpy today," Diane apologized, laughing nervously as she made her way down the steps.

The elderly neighbor chuckled, "It's alright," he said as he walked into his house, "Have a good day," he called out in farewell.

* * *

The golden morning light shined down on the terminals at Pearson International, filtering through the large windows overlooking the tarmac and bathing workers and passengers in warm light. At the customs desk, vacationers and military alike stood in line waiting to get their passports scanned in.

Two people in military uniforms stood side by side as the line moved up, "Think he's gonna be surprised to see us?" one of them, a woman with blonde hair in a bun and blue eyes, asked her taller companion.

"It's _Prince_ of course he'll be surprised, he hasn't seen us in over two years," the man scoffed as the line moved up. There was a moment of silence between them before the corners of the man's mouth curled upwards in a smirk and he began whistling, "_Sweet Caroline_".

"Stop it," the woman snorted, playfully slapping her companion on the arm, grinning all the while.

They were called up to the desk, the customs officer stamping their passports and giving them the obligatory, "Enjoy your stay," before calling up the next group of people.

The pair of soldiers walked down the hallways, descending the stairs and heading to the baggage carousels, they were surrounded by families and business men who were returning from their trips. Little kids pointed at the two soldiers who stood by the carousel, waiting for their bags, the woman smiled and waved, the man saluted to the kids.

"Gotta love 'em," she said as she watched the children run to their parents.

The man chuckled, "Just a week off before we're shipped out again," he said as they grabbed their luggage off the carousel, it really wasn't much stuff, just their duffels which contained gear and civilian clothing.

The woman shrugged, "Hey, no rest for the wicked," she said as she hefted her duffel and slung the strap over her shoulder, they walked through the crowded airport, exiting the terminal and waiting out by the road for the bus to take them into the city.

The SRU had already been up since five, filling out paperwork and getting ready for the day ahead. Jules and Leah stood in the weapons cage, doing inventory and cleaning. The smell of gun cleaner solvent permeated the air as Ed cleaned out his service weapon, leaving the metal of the glock a shiny black.

Sam and Wordy were sparring in the gym and by the looks of it Sam was losing, sorely. He found himself flat on his back as Wordy executed a perfect throw, the older constable chuckled as he held out a hand, "Come on Samtastic, you _almost_ had it that time," he quipped.

Sam pretended to scowl, the frown quickly dissolving into a grin as he stood up, "Alright, let's try that again," he said as he got into his stance, getting ready to attempt to take down the close-quarters combat expert once more.

Greg sat in the briefing room, signing off on reports and paperwork, the job of sergeant never got easier in terms of paperwork. He frowned as he looked over a report filed by Spike, the bomb expert's handwriting was something to be desired.

Speaking of the devil, Spike was walking down the hall with the remote control in his hand, fiddling around with the controls as his bomb disarming robot, Babycakes, leisurely kept pace with him. She suddenly stopped up, Spike frowned, and knelt beside her, "Come on Babycakes, don't do this to me," he sweet talked to the robot as he fiddled with a few wires.

"Need some help?" Sam asked as he walked up to the technician, raising an eyebrow at some of the terms that Spike was using on Babycakes to make her work properly.

"Samtastic," Spike said without looking up from his robot, "I thought you and Wordy were sparring."

Sam nodded, "Yeah, we were, but I'm taking a break," he explained as he knelt down next to the robot, he never truly understood Spike's obsession with the thing. He didn't think it had much of a personality, though it was quite entertaining to see Spike throw a fit over the robot as it sat impassively in the halls.

"Taking a break from getting your butt kicked," Spike muttered as he squinted at some small mechanism in the bowels of the circuitry, "Ahh, there you are," he said triumphantly, "Pesky little gear, now why did you slip?" he asked himself as he readjusted the gears and stood up, "Now let's try that again," he said.

Sam wisely got out of the way of the robot, Babycakes may not have a mind of her own, but sometimes it really seemed like she was on a warpath. This time, however, the bomb disarming robot glided across the linoleum floor with ease and Spike did a fist pump in victory, "Alright Babycakes, I knew you'd pull through," he said, grinning.

* * *

He walked through the crowded streets, looking for his prey, looking for the man who dared to get in between him and his soul mate. He was near the work site, it would have to be done soon and quickly if he ever stood a chance of escaping. Finally! He saw the boyfriend and made his move, nearing a clear spot in the crowd, he caught up with man and tapped him on the shoulder.

Tim was a burly man who worked in the construction industry, his career was already off to a flying start and he was the foreman for a pretty big construction project. He was nice to everyone and was very good at what he did. He glanced down at the gawky and timid looking man next to him, "Can I help you?" he asked, slightly confused, he had never seen this man before in his life.

"I think your girlfriend's missing something," he said as he pulled out the necklace he had taken a few weeks before. Tim's eyes widened in surprise, he glanced down at the thin man, _that_ was the creep who had been stalking them for the past couple months?

"Who are you?" he asked, surprised and angered at the sight of the necklace, he took a step back from the man, "Why do you have Dianes necklace?"

The gun was pulled quicker than Tim could blink, a loud crack echoed through the streets and Tim fell to the ground, a bullet wound in his chest. He struggled to take a breath as the stalker stood above him, placing the necklace back in his pocket and staring at him emotionlessly, "She's _mine_," he said as he ran off into the crowd of terrified pedestrians. He disappeared quickly, making his escape before anyone could stop him.

**Wow, alright, hope it didn't go too fast there. Almost 2000 words, so this should be . . . relatively lengthy? Finally, I'm fully recovered from my first skiing trip and it only took a week, though I still have a bruise the size of my fist on my calf . . . hrmmm. Hopefully the next chapter won't be too far away, it really depends on how much my muse has returned/how much school owns me this quarter. See that button down there? Well, click it, and type nice stuff into the text box that pops up.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Happy Superbowl Sunday everyone! Not rooting for any team . . . except for Team One! :D I have a fancomic up for Flashpoint, it's about Sam Braddock in his military years, I'm posting the link on my profile if you would like to see it. I tried making this chapter as long as possible without ruining the cliffie.**

The SRU burst into action as the "hot call" alarm echoed down the hallways, alerting everyone to a new emergency.

"Team One, gear up," Winnie said into the PA system microphone as the alarm blared through the station, "Shots fired at Sullivan and Spadina."

The team geared up in a flurry of activity, vests were donned, guns were checked, loaded and rechecked. The check list was ran off, this time, though, when the word, "Rookie?" was shouted, Leah was pushed along by Wordy.

"Check!" he said with a grin, as he and Leah stepped into one of the sleek, black Suburbans.

"Alright Winnie, feed me on the fly," Greg said as he ran to the passenger's seat of the Suburban driven by Ed.

"Copy that Sarge," Winnie said from her desk in headquarters.

The trucks screamed out of the garage, speeding down the highway with sirens blaring. Greg and Ed's truck was in the lead, he listened carefully while Winnie gave them as much information as she had on the incident.

"Sounds like the subject went up to the man and shot him," she said as she heard the 911 reports.

"Random act of violence?" Ed asked to his sergeant as they turned onto a road.

Greg's eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he heard the witness reports, "If this is a spree shooter, we're going to have to stop him as soon as possible."

"Copy that," Ed answered as they pulled up to the site, an ambulance was just pulling away and a crowd of people stood by, some in a state of shock, others taking photos with their cell phone cameras. Police were working to cordon off the area so crime scene investigators could get there.

An officer ran up to Greg as he exited his vehicle, "What have we got?" Greg asked the constable as his team gathered around him.

"Witnesses say they saw a young male, approximately twenty, walk up to the victim, Tim Raker, they shared a few words, the male pulled a gun and shot Raker in the chest," the constable said, "the subject ran north on Spadina."

"Sounds like it was personal," Greg noted, he opened his mouth to give directions to his team when he was interrupted by shouts.

A commotion broke out as several burly construction guys tried to run up to Greg, they were quickly held back by the police officers securing the scene, "What are you doing here?" one of them yelled, "Find that son of a bitch who shot Tim!"

"Jules," Greg said, motioning for her to follow him as they walked up to the group of construction men, Ed motioned for the rest of the team to gather around him as he barked orders.

"Tim a buddy of yours?" Greg asked the crew.

The guy who shouted nodded, "He's the foreman. We go back."

"Tim having any problems lately with anyone?" Jules questioned, she noted the changing expressions on the men's faces, most of them were _not_ happy.

The shouter glared, "You think he's involved with a gang or something? Listen lady, he's a good man, he wouldn't get involved with any gangs or crime. He has a girlfriend for goodness sakes, I-"

"Wait," another worker interrupted the rant, "Remember he was talking about the stalker a few weeks back Johnny?" he said suddenly.

"Stalker?" Greg asked, they were finally getting somewhere.

The worker shrugged, "He mentioned it a couple weeks ago, said that the police couldn't do anything and he was really worried for his girl."

"His girl?" Greg asked, "She have a name?"

"Uhh, Diane," the man snapped his fingers, trying to remember the last name, "Diane . . ."

"Singer," Johnny finished for his co-worker, nodding, "Diane Singer, I remember now, Tim said that some creep was following her, leaving threatening notes on their door step."

"Alright, thank you," Greg said as they turned and left the group of construction workers, "Winnie, get me all you can on a stalking case, complainant's name is Diane Singer."

"Copy," Winnie's voice crackled over the radio.

"Sarge, if he's escalated and he's looking for Diane," Jules began.

"I know," Greg said, shaking his head, it was not going to end well if the stalker had escalated. The stalker knew where Diane was, unfortunately, the SRU didn't, "Winnie, get me a cell phone number for Diane Singer."

He walked down the streets, looking no more suspicious than a worker enjoying his break, the gun tucked safely in his waistband. He smirked as he made his way to a corner, the competition was out of the way, he could have Diane.

Finally, he stopped and looked around at where he was, noting the street names and the bus stop at the intersection, he took a seat on the bench, checked his watch, and waited.

Diane walked on the bus, furtively glancing around for anyone suspicious on the vehicle, she didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. A family sat in the back, their kids bouncing up and down in the seats impatiently, next to them, a couple of tourists relaxed on the bus, a few shopping bags gathered beside them. And near the front, two soldiers sat on the seat that ran along the side of the bus, just taking in the sights and sounds of the city they called home.

Diane sat in the bench across from the soldiers and the bus pulled away from the stop, driving towards the man with the gun in his waistband. Diane's phone vibrated, but she couldn't hear it over the shouts of the little kids and it was buried deep within her purse.

'_Damn_,' Greg thought as he tried Diane's cell once more, with the same results, "She's not answering her cell," he said as he sat in the passenger's seat of the truck once more.

Winnie's voice came over the radios, "Sarge, I've got the detective working Diane's case on the phone now," she said.

"Alright, thanks Winnie, patch me through," Greg said as they traveled towards Diane's house, the detective came on loud and clear through Greg's headset.

"Detective Simmons, this is Sergeant Parker with the SRU, I understand you're working on a stalking case involving Diane Singer?" Greg asked.

Detective Simmons was sitting at his desk, talking to the sergeant, "Yes sir, we got a break in the case today, apparently a neighbor saw our stalker the other day. We've got a description but no one in the neighborhood knows him. Why do you want to know?"

"Your stalker just shot a man and now he's running on the streets of Toronto, looking for Diane," Greg said, he heard a whoosh of breath from the other end of the line.

Simmons sighed, "I've investigated over twenty stalking cases this past year, I've never seen any as bad as this one."

"Alright, thanks Detective," Greg said, sighing heavily.

"And Sergeant?" Simmons added his voice full of something close to worry.

Greg nodded as the SUV sped down the highway, "Yeah?"

" This man is mentally unstable," Simmons began, taking a deep breath, " . . . if and when he cracks, it's not going to be pretty."

"Thank you detective," Greg stated and the line went dead, he sighed, they needed to find Diane and fast. He tried her cell phone once again, "C'mon, pick up the phone," he said.

There was a lull in the noise in the bus and Diane heard the buzzing noise of her vibrating phone, she picked up, "Hello?"

Relief flooded through Greg's veins but he kept his voice calm and professional, "Hello, is this Diane Singer?"

"Uh, yes, who is this?" Diane asked as the bus pulled up to a stop, a thin young man walked on, paying the fare and walking up to her seat, he sat next to her. He kept giving her furtive glances, one of his hands in his jacket pocket, seemingly rubbing something.

"This is Sergeant Greg Parker, I'm with the police," Greg said, "Where are you right now?"

Diane's voice sounded surprised and a little confused, "I'm on the bus, Dundas Street . . . why?" she was confused, not understanding why she was getting this call, part of her thought it was a prank and she should hang up the phone before the guy got any more information.

"On the next stop, I need you to get off the bus," Greg explained calmly, "Your boyfriend was shot by the man who's been stalking you for the past few weeks. We think he may be coming after you."

"Oh my gosh," Diane started, her mouth open in surprise, "Is he okay?"

The bus came to another stop, Diane started to get up, her ear still to the phone, she felt someone grab her wrist, "Wait," the thin man next to her said, looking up at her, he pulled out the necklace with his other hand, letting her go.

Diane's eyes widened at the sight of the necklace, she gaped, "Who are you? Why do you . . . oh my god," she said in surprise as she took a few steps back. The stalker's hand reached back to the gun tucked in his waistband, the male soldier's eyes narrowed, he began to stand . . .

The man pulled a gun, "Nobody move!" he yelled, pointing the gun at the soldier, who slowly sat back down, his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture.

Greg heard the commotion over his cell, "Diane? Diane, is everything okay?" he asked, worry seeping into his normally calm voice. Ed looked over at him, his eyes narrowing.

"Hang up the phone! Hang it up now!" the stalker yelled, pointing the gun at Diane now, he watched as she silently lowered the phone, closing it up and terminating the call.

Greg heard the line go silent, he tried the cell phone again with no luck, he hit the dashboard of the Suburban in frustration.

Meanwhile, on the bus, a silence had fallen, the passengers gagged by the fear of angering the gunman further. The man was still pointing the gun at Diane, a small smile creeping across his thin face, his shoulders shaking in apparent laughter.

"You really thought you could blow me off as someone not worth loving?" the stalker grinned, a spine-chilling and sinister sneer, his eyes stayed emotionless, dead, "I thought we had a connection Diane, a real one, I thought we were soul mates."

"What are you talking about?" Diane asked, her voice quavering as she looked down the barrel of the gun, "Who are you?"

"You don't remember me? From the coffee shop? December fifth, last year, I remember it like it was yesterday," the stalker's eyes seemed to be lost in a distant memory, "The way you smiled at me when I walked by, I knew we were meant to be together from the very beginning."

The soldier glanced at the stalker's form, there were tons of openings, he could easily take the gunman down, but not without the risk of him firing off a shot, a shot that could hit a civilian. He sat and waited for his chance.

As if she had read his mind, the female soldier whispered, "Easy Brent, not now," she placed a hand on his arm, as if cautioning him.

The driver meanwhile, had stopped the bus in surprise, he glanced up at the gunman with a fearful expression, impatient drivers behind him honked their car horns at the sudden stop.

The stalker snapped out of his reverie as he glared and pointed the gun at the driver, the weapon visibly shaking in his tight grasp, "Keep driving!" he yelled, stepping forward, "And no funny business or I'll kill everyone on this bus!"

The bus began rolling once more, the driver clenching the wheel so tight, his knuckles were white. The occupants of the bus were silent but looked at each other with the same glint of fear and panic in their eyes.

**Alright, next chapter, hopefully in a week, depending on my homework situation. I won't blame you if you can't sleep after reading about the stalker . . . I could barely sleep myself . . . the characters I come up with *shakes head*.**


End file.
